


Tales of the Devil's Son

by tigriswolf



Series: Alternate Universe [314]
Category: Devour (2005), Face/Off (1997), Gilmore Girls, Joshua - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Death, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Incest, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17514092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: Various Devour fics I've written over the years.





	1. Room for Improvement

**Author's Note:**

> Every chapter will have its own rating and warnings. Some will be crossovers. Tags will be updated as I post. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Title: Room for Improvement  
> Fandom: Devour  
> Disclaimer: Not my characters. Just for fun.  
> Warnings: spoilers for movie  
> Pairings: Jake/Marisol  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Wordcount: 330  
> Point of view: third

In his memory, she tastes like blood. 

.

Five years in the hospital. Hundreds of pounds of drugs. Words hurled and retracted.

Jake Grey woke up from one nightmare into another, and couldn’t say which was worse. 

.

Mom and Dad visit weekly. They speak of what he misses in the outside world. They say they love him. They miss him. They want him home.

The doctors say he is steadily improving.  
Jake never asks about Connie or Dakota. His parents never offer the information. What that means, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t really want to. 

.

Two lifetimes of memories war inside him. One includes the Devil and murder and blood towards the end. The other has him in and out of hospitals since the age of five.

Jake takes the pills and talks to the shrinks and swiftly remembers how easy it is to lie. 

.

_No, I don’t want to hurt myself._

_No, I don’t wonder about death._

_No, I don’t want to hurt anyone else._

_No, I don’t remember my hallucinations._

_No… I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to the Devil._

_Yes, I think I’m better._

_Yes… I think I’m ready to return to the world._

__._ _

__Twenty-six and free for the first time in five years._ _

__They tell him he lost his mind. Thought the Devil told him to kill, but luckily he was caught in time._ _

__Life is hard. No one denies it. Stronger men have broken with less cause._ _

__He misses Connie. Dakota._ _

__Marisol._ _

__._ _

__Jake refuses to answer the phone. His doctor tells Mom it’ll pass and not to worry. Dad tells him they understand._ _

__Jake doesn’t tell them they don’t have a clue._ _

__._ _

__Sometimes, Marisol speaks in his dreams. Whispers that he’s forgiven. Gently kisses his forehead and softly touches his cheek._ _

___I have forever, darling,_ she says. _And you are my son. So do you.__ _

__When she presses her lips to his, she tastes like blood._ _


	2. From Serpent's Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: From Serpent’s Tongue  
> Fandom: Devour  
> Disclaimer: none of ‘em are mine.  
> Warnings: violence, non-consensual touching/kissing  
> Pairings: Paul/Kathy, Marisol/Kathy, Marisol/Jake  
> Rating: R  
> Wordcount: 2920  
> Point of view: third  
> Notes: _Jakob_ means _supplanter._  
>  More notes: The phrase _dance with the Devil in pale moonlight_ is from Batman.  
> Notes cubed: I also bastardize a quote from Alice in Wonderland.

_… kill me, Momma… kill me…_

.

Kathy learned she would never have children after waking up in the hospital when she was nineteen. She had no memory of the accident that put her there, but apparently it had been horrible. Five cars and one semi were involved, six people died, twelve were wounded, and Kathy lost the ability to bear and deliver a child.

Her parents assured her it wasn’t the end of the world, her brother Ross said the accident hadn’t been her fault, and her fiancé Paul swore he still wanted her for his wife.

“There are millions of kids out there who need homes, Kat,” he whispered, cradling her in his arms. “And you are the best person I know.” He kissed her temple, carded his fingers through her hair. “I swear, you’ll always be the one I want. Nothing will ever change that.”

.

Kathy first laid eyes on her son in a dream. She was wandering through a forest she _knew_ she knew, the sun high in the sky, lighting a path for her trembling feet to follow. The woods were silent as a grave, and she shuddered at the thought. Kathy walked the path to its end: a circle of stone. A woman waited for her there, an infant cradled in her arms

“Kathryn,” the woman said. “Welcome. I’ve waited eternities for you.”

“Me?” Kathy asked. “Why?”

“When you wake tomorrow, tell your husband you want to visit the forest outside of your town. You want to commune with nature beneath those ancient trees. Tell him that you’ll die if you don’t.”

“What?” Kathy repeated. “Why?”

“Do as I say, child,” the woman commanded. “If you want a son.”

Kathy woke the next morning with an aching need to get to the woods outside of town, but she didn’t know why.

.

Two days after stealing the gorgeous baby boy from the horrific monster, the woman appeared in Kathy’s dream again.

“Thank you,” Kathy said. “We couldn’t have saved him without you.”

The woman’s smile was sharp and her laughter biting. “Name him Jakob, dear, and we’ll call it even.”

“Jakob?” Kathy echoed. “Why?”

The woman stepped out of the circle and lightly caressed Kathy’s face. “Because he is the future, Kathryn. Jakob Lucien. I gave you a son so beautiful the world will fall at his feet. The least you can do is name him what I ask.”

“Of course,” Kathy said. Her grandfather had been called Jacob, and one of her uncles was named Luke. “Jakob Lucien.”

The woman smiled again, gentler this time, and when she kissed Kathy, Kathy could taste blood.

.

Paul didn’t want to name him Jakob, but Kathy insisted. And since Kathy was still in the hospital since falling down the mountain, she got her way.

Her parents took care of Jakob until Kathy went home from the hospital and Paul spent most of the time by her side.

The day she was finally released, she held Jakob for hours, studying his tiny, perfect face, whispering of the fun they’d have. He smiled up at her, laughed, cooed, and Kathy fell completely in love.

.

Jakob grew too fast. Kathy wanted him to stay a smiling little boy, curious about everything, full of laughter. But soon he became a surly teenager, always butting heads with Paul. Paul’s drinking didn’t help, but Kathy couldn’t say a word to make them get along.

She sat in her chair in the kitchen, listening to them yell, wincing at the words they hurled through the air. Jakob was fifteen and insisted on being called Jake; Paul was drunk and it was only nine in the morning.

Kathy felt the tears building, felt them pooling in her eyes and spilling over. She loved them both so much and couldn’t understand why they refused to behave.

Then she heard the sound of a slap, of flesh on flesh. Kathy gasped and closed her eyes; Paul said, “Oh, God, son, I’m sorry!”

Kathy couldn’t make out Jake’s reply over the rushing of her blood or the roaring in her head.  
Before she fell completely into the black void that beckoned, Kathy heard Jake screaming, “Mom!”

.

She woke to Jake asleep in the chair by her bed and Paul staring out the window. Kathy just watched them for a while, breathing softly. Paul’s shoulders were tight, full of tension, and she could feel the regret hanging around him. Jake looked uneasy; ever since he became a teenager, his dreams were hard, scary; Kathy longed to wrap her arms around him, to wipe away his fear and sorrow, but she hadn’t the strength or ability.

Jake’s eyes flickered open and he smiled at her. “Hi, Momma,” he said softly and Paul turned.

“Kathy,” he murmured, relief tangible. “Thank God you’re awake.”

She didn’t want her first words to be a reprimand and tinged with disappointment but she had to say it before she forgot. “You can’t drink anymore, Paul.”

His shoulders sagged down and he quietly promised, “I won’t.”

.

Kathy never went back home. Paul and Jake couldn’t take care of her all the time. She knew the fights would be frequent and awful without her, but they both agreed it would be best for her. She hated being away from them, not seeing them every day. She’d loved Paul since she was thirteen, and Jake could brighten her day with a smile.

Paul dropped by when he could, usually every other day. He’d sit with her, talk about the old days, those eight years they had before Jake. He always kissed her gently goodbye, eyes filled with sorrow and grief, and a hint of anger. She didn’t have the words to fix what had broken in their world; Kathy knew the words didn’t exist.

Jake spent an hour with her every day she was up to it. He’d tell her about school, about the latest adventures of Connie, the boy who worshipped him (though, he’d never shared that tidbit of information with her, she’d gleaned the knowledge from the way Connie was around Jake, and she knew the feeling to be completely mutual). Jake assured her she’d be better one day, able to walk and care for herself again, but he’d always be there, always, come Hell or high water or a stampede of buffalo.

Kathy just smiled and listened and when he ran out of words, she’d talk about his younger years, the happy baby she fell in love with. How from the first moment she laid eyes on him, she knew he was hers and she was his and everything felt right again.

Paul never mentioned Jake and Jake never mentioned Paul. Sometimes, she asked how things were with them, but Paul ignored the question and Jake said, “Better.”

Kathy knew she was the one fraying thread that kept them together and it hurt her because she loved them both so much it ached.

.

The years passed slowly and she was not quite happy. The nurses were kind and the grounds beautiful. She would sit outside and watch the sky turn colors, darken, and then study the stars until wheeled to her room. They helped her onto her bed, tucked her covers around her, and wished her goodnight.

She missed Paul’s nearness, his warmth, his scent. She missed his arms around her, his lips on hers. She missed his gentle assurance of always being there, of always taking care of her. She missed the boy she first met, the man she married.

Kathy couldn’t pinpoint when he first changed, but she believed it may have been the day they found Jake shrieking in that cabin. Walking through the trees, the last day she ever did stand alone on her own two feet—it was the perfect moment. The last time she saw the man Paul had been, that man she loved since she’d seen a fourteen-year-old boy playing basketball. After they found Jake, after her body broke and never fully healed, then suffered a slow slide into full paralysis, Paul never smiled so brightly again. He stayed with her, though, his love still shone bright and true, but he was never the same man.

And she missed him. She hadn’t been held by him in almost twenty-one years and she _missed_ him. Kathy loved Jake more than she’d ever imagined and her mom told her that was the way of motherhood. But because she loved him so much, it hurt that sometimes, when she lay alone and unable to move by herself, she wondered if losing Paul was worth finding Jake.

.

Whenever Jake visited he brought her orchids, her favorite flower, and she’d tell him about her and Paul’s first date, when he gave her a lovely bouquet of them. Jake kissed her when he arrived and when he left, on her cheek or forehead. His eyes were always gentle, with sorrow and grief, with pain and guilt.

He believed she was injured in a car wreck. He believed his father lost control of the car on a snowy night. He believed he was screaming in the backseat as the car spun out, hitting a tree. He went uninjured, Paul got a broken arm, and she was never the same again. Kathy hated lying to him, thought he saw the truth every time he looked in her eyes. But what really happened was so much worse… and somehow, he still knew it was because of him. He blamed himself for what he thought was a car accident when he was less than a year old.

So when she gazed at his face, taking in the guilt he carried on his shoulders for something that was nowhere near his fault, her guilt cemented deeper in her soul.

.

The third time Kathy saw the woman, Jake was hours away from turning twenty-one. The newest nurse, Marisol Banderas, had seemed familiar from the beginning, but Kathy couldn’t place her. It’d been twenty years, after all, so Kathy forgave herself for not recognizing the Devil when she appeared again.

“Finally you know me,” the Fiend said, giving a throaty chuckle. “I have waited eternities for you to look at me and see me for what I am.”

In her dream, the wind screaming and trees groaning, moonlight alone illuminating Marisol in her soft blue gown, Kathy stood as she hadn’t in over twenty years. As she had the first time they spoke, Kathy asked, “Why?”

Marisol’s smile made a shiver shoot down her spine. “An experiment, Kathryn. An experiment far beyond your meager human comprehension. I formed him from my blood and yours, so he is your son, as well. You did not bear or deliver him, but he is still your seed. You loved him so suddenly and completely because your being knew him as yours. And he is beautiful, our son. Gorgeous in a way mankind has forgotten how to be.”

Marisol stepped forward, over the stones, and held out a hand. “Dance with me, love. Dance with the Devil in pale moonlight.”

Kathy moved back, hands by her sides. “Please,” she said, trembling. “Tell me the real reason why.”

Marisol threw back her head and howled with laughter, filling the forest, echoing loudly in Kathy’s head. “‘The time has come,’ the Devil said,” Marisol paraphrased, “‘to speak of many things: of insanity, of blood, and the fall of the King.’”

Kathy closed her eyes. “Apocalypse?” she whispered and shuddered when she felt Marisol’s fingers on her face.

“Yes,” Marisol whispered, trailing her fingers across Kathy’s cheek, then tangling them in Kathy’s hair. “In your veins flows the Virgin’s blood. Holy blood. And in mine flows power and knowledge from the dawn of time. I was the first, the greatest—I am what all since have striven to be.”

Kathy looked into Marisol’s dark, dangerous eyes. “Won’t God stop you?”

Marisol smiled and leaned in, pressed her lips feather-soft against Kathy’s. “Jehovah has long since looked away. He no longer cares for His creations, moved on to new playgrounds millennia ago.” She kissed her way down Kathy’s neck, then murmured into Kathy’s skin, “This world is mine. Our son is the weapon forged to end mankind’s reign. Because you have been good to him, I offer you—the Son’s kin—a chance to stand with me when the fire rains.”

Kathy licked her lips nervously, watching Marisol raise her head. “Paul?” she asked.

Marisol shook her head, smile razor-edged. “He has not been good to our boy, Rynnie. You know it. And I forgive you for letting it happen since I’m the one who made you unable to stop it.”

Kathy jerked back and Marisol let her. “ _You_ paralyzed me?” she hissed, fury giving her courage.

Marisol nodded. “You should have known there would be a price paid, darling. I gave you a son. Did you think I would take nothing in return?”

Kathy clenched her hands into fists, tried restraining her temper. But anger loosened her tongue and she snarled, “Fuck off, you demented bitch.”

And Marisol smiled again, slow and dangerous. “There are no more chances, Kathryn. If I leave now, I will never again offer you my hand.” She reached out once more, caressed Kathy’s face. “Do not make a hasty decision, mother of my son.”

Kathy pulled away and met Marisol’s midnight eyes. “Leave me alone.”

Marisol nodded. “As you wish, my lovely, so shall it be done.”

Kathy had one moment of wondering if she’d made the right decision before being catapulted into consciousness. And all she recalled, after her eyes opened, was a fleeting sense of regret.

.

When Jake visited the day after he turned twenty-one, Kathy watched with glee as he and the newest nurse, Marisol, flirted.

But a part of her, a part she barely knew was there, whispered, _Get her away from my son._

Kathy couldn’t hear that part, however, and even if she could, she lacked the ability to anything about it.

.

And then Connie died. And Dakota. And Kathy’s only brother, Ross, in some freak car wreck.

And a week after Jake’s birthday, Marisol woke Kathy and said, “Time to collect debts owed.”

For a moment, Kathy was disoriented, had no idea where she was or what was going on.

Then she looked into Marisol’s cold, dark eyes and couldn’t hold in the whimper.

“You have given him a lifetime of humanity, Kathryn,” Marisol told her, carrying her through the deserted halls. “And now it is my turn to give him his inheritance.”

“Please,” Kathy begged. “Just let Jake and Paul go.”

Marisol chuckled. “You had a chance to escape, love. You were given an opportunity and you spit in my face. There are no second chances, no last-minute bouts of mercy.” Marisol carried her out of the building and put her in the back of a van, next to Paul’s body. She could only stare at her husband in horror, but Marisol assured her, “He’s just sleeping, Ryn. For now.” Marisol leaned down and brushed strands of her off Kathy’s face. “You, my dear, are the key that will unlock all the potential leashed in our son.” She gave Kathy a brief, gentle kiss, and closed the door.

.

Marisol tied Kathy and Paul to the wooden stake and lifted them into the air. Paul never regained consciousness, but Kathy was locked in her body, fully aware of what was going on. She felt the cold slice of knife and the blood drip down her, collecting in that cup. She felt the world growing colder, felt her heart slowing, and still Jake did not come. Maybe, she hoped for a little while, he’d escaped Marisol’s grasp, fled.

But then, there he was, gorgeously alive and gloriously beautiful, too human to be _other_ and too _other_ to be human.

Kathy could only watch in horrified fascination as Marisol revealed herself, as Marisol tempted him. And Jake held back, Jake shoved away the desire, and then Marisol kissed _him_ , that _bitch_ dare put her lips on Kathy’s _son_ —rage coursed through her and Jake jerked away, looked up at Kathy, and she heard, _Momma, why didn’t you kill me?_ before Marisol glared at her and _pain_ —

.

And Kathy slept. She dreamed of the days before Jake, of her childhood and her parents and her brother, of the life she lived before the wreck that stole her children and then the tumble that stole her strength. She dreamed of Paul, of the boy she met and the man she loved and the person who died that night she fell down a mountain.

Kathy dreamed of her son, the one thing she loved more than Paul, and of Marisol, the evil liar who damned Kathy’s boy.

Kathy slept and Kathy wept and Kathy prayed for deliverance, for redemption, for absolution—but she heard only Marisol’s howl of laughter and felt only heat licking her body, and she smelled flesh burning, tasted ash, and opened her eyes to absolute darkness that soon revealed itself as a tomb.

 _Claw your way out, darling,_ Marisol whispered in her head, _and you have your second chance to steal our son from my embrace._

 _Mercy?_ Kathy wondered, and Marisol answered her thought.

_No, Kathryn. But Jakob has further to fall than I believed._

Exultation filled Kathy’s body and she commanded her arms to _move._

For the first time in twenty-one years, they listened. With determination and hope in her heart, Kathy began to force herself up through the dirt.


	3. untitled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence/death and Hell.

When Jake gets to Hell, she is waiting. She welcomes him open arms, with a wide smile, with a throne and a scepter and a kingdom to rule as he sees fit.

When Jake gets to Hell, he thinks about Mom and Dakota and Connie. His family. The people _she_ killed, trying to raise some devil inside him.

When Jake gets to Hell, he sits on the throne and he wears the crown and he clenches the scepter tight in his hands, until his fingers bleed around it.

When Jake gets to Hell, he commands, "Break her into pieces." 

When Jake gets to Hell, he is no longer the devil's son; he is Lucifer reborn, and Lucifer has no mother.


	4. Identities (crossover with Face/Off)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Identities  
> Fandom: crossover between Devour and Face/Off  
> Disclaimer: Not my characters. Just for fun.  
> Warnings: AU for Devour and Face/Off; violence; mentions of incest and child sexual abuse  
> Pairings: Jake/Dakota; Jamie/Castor-in-Sean’s-body  
> Wordcount: 930  
> Point of view: third

She hadn’t been born Dakota Marie Jameson. It was just the name assigned to her when she was relocated and given a new life.

Dakota Marie Jameson never had any siblings. She lived in Miami before her mother moved them to the wilds of Cheever Lake, Washington. Her father died when she was fifteen—the only thing Dakota Marie Jameson shares with Jamie Anna Archer besides her face and DNA. Before he died, he’d abused her, for years. Dakota’s mother moved them to protect her.

But Jamie’s father had only abused her that once. And he hadn’t even been her father. 

.

Jamie doesn’t have all the facts. All she knows is that Dad somehow exchanged his face with a psychopath to save Los Angeles from a horrible fate.

Dakota has never set foot in Los Angeles and she never will. Dakota has only a mother and a ramshackle house, two friends and town full of fuckbuddies. 

Dakota uses her body as a defense against actually caring for anyone. And every time someone fucks her, she sees her father’s face. 

Or rather—Jamie’s dad. Worn by a monster.

.

Dakota’s mother is a covert operative. She’s come to care for Dakota, barely. She was good friends with Sean Archer, back in the old days. Before he switched faces and died. 

She calls the woman ‘Mom’ though it kills her inside because she’s not ready to die. But at night she almost always cries because she misses her real mother and her real father and her little brother so much she aches.

.

Her first year in Washington, she was a sophomore in high school. She had nightmares every night and flashbacks most days. Sometimes, she forgot to answer to _Dakota _.__

__She met Jake Grey and Conrad Fuller, two boys inseparable from each other. Conrad wanted into her pants, but Jake actually spoke to her._ _

__Jamie would have made a move on him, but Dakota—though she gave in to everyone else—refrained. There was something almost pure about him._ _

__Of course, by the end of junior year she’d seduced him, but damn, that was a long time to hold off._ _

__._ _

__Jamie would have been able to control Jake like she had all the boys back in Los Angeles, until Karl tried to take what he wanted. Jamie could have snapped her fingers and Jake would’ve hopped to, like all boys did._ _

__But Jamie is dead and Dakota remains. Jamie died with her mother and her father, with her little brother years before._ _

__._ _

__Dakota fell in love with Jake somewhere around the end of senior year. Jamie whispered in the back of her mind to be careful, to be on guard, because something was wrong with Jake and always had been._ _

__But Dakota didn’t listen._ _

__Dakota didn’t want to listen because Jake was gorgeous and Jake was kind and Jake looked at her like she meant something more than a quickie._ _

__Jamie would have been able to control Jake with a snap of her fingers, but Dakota dreamed of Prince Charming and a ball and Jake taking away the memories of Dad’s body raping hers._ _

__._ _

__But Jake wasn’t Prince Charming. Jake was—_ _

__Jake is—_ _

__And Dakota can’t even think the words._ _

___Devilspawn_._ _

__._ _

__Dad used to read her stories, when Jamie was little. They’d cuddle on her bed, the book of fairy tales held in front of them, and Dad would spend hours going from one legend to the next, transporting her to that world. She loved “Beauty and the Beast” in particular, requested it most of all._ _

__But Jamie isn’t a beauty and Dad’s no longer alive, and the last memory she has of him is his hands on her skin, his tongue in her mouth, and his eyes laughing at her ineffectual struggling._ _

__Jamie’s last memory of Dad isn’t of Dad at all, and that offers no comfort or relief—it just makes her cry longer at night._ _

__._ _

__Dakota doesn’t listen to Jamie anymore. Jamie doesn’t exist. Jamie is dead and gone, buried next to her father and mother and little brother. Jamie died the same day Castor Troy killed Mom and Dad._ _

__Everyone says so._ _

__And Dakota lives in a ramshackle house with her cold mother, on the outskirts of Cheever Lake, Washington._ _

__Or, well… she did._ _

__Before._ _

__._ _

__Dakota lives in an institution and Jamie is dead. Dakota doesn’t tell anyone about the dreams and whimpers to the doctor about Daddy’s hands. She plays up the abused little girl act and the doctor says that Professor Hartney’s actions are the reason for her psychotic break._ _

__Dakota is a marvelous liar, better than Jamie ever was._ _

__._ _

__Dakota is no beauty and Jake isn’t a beast._ _

__He’s something far worse and Dakota still can’t think the words, Dakota has no explanation, Dakota is all that’s left of Jake’s mimicry._ _

__And Dakota knows that Jake doesn’t want any loose ends._ _

__._ _

__Jamie screams at her to escape, to be gone before Jake visits the institution and gets rid of her. Jamie screams that he’s not the man she knew, not her friend, not the person she fell in love with._ _

__Jake can’t save her. Jake can’t save either one of them._ _

__But Dakota shouts Jamie down and says if she’s going to die, then Jake’s got to be the one to kill her._ _

__And Jamie just laughs._ _

__._ _

__Her life went from fucked up as Jamie to worse as Dakota, but at least she got to see Jake, to know him for a while, even if he’s more awful than Castor Troy ever could have been._ _


	5. The Willow Is Weeping (crossover with Gilmore Girls)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: The Willow Is Weeping  
> Fandom: "Gilmore Girls"/Devour crossover  
> Disclaimer: not my characters. just for fun.  
> Warnings: AU for "Gilmore Girls" after season five. I've not seen seasons six or seven so their events are ignored. Violence/death.   
> Pairings: Dean Forester/Jake Gray   
> Point of view: third
> 
> Note: As I reread this and made minor edits, I realized that Dean seems kinda socio- or psychopathic. I didn't bother revising it so he that doesn't. Keep that in mind.

Leaving Stars Hollow was the best thing he ever did. The only reason to stay would’ve been Clara, and she told him to go.

“You’re not happy,” she said, smiling up at him sadly. “Don’t make yourself miserable for me.”

So he left. Without looking back. Without word.

He traveled the country for a while, doing odd jobs when money got tight, which it often did. He wasn’t happy, doubted he ever could be again. Finally, he wound up in Washington State, thousands of miles away from everything he’d ever known.

Breathing in air filled with the scent of the Pacific, Dean almost thinks he’s happy.

.

At first, when he’s just left, he calls Clara every day. Lets her know he's safe, where he is, where he thinks he might be going next.

Over the weeks, he calls less and less. And finally, he stops. He’s left behind that life, those people—he isn’t Dean Forrester anymore.

Two months after leaving, he hasn’t talked to Clara in three weeks.

He finally feels like he’s grown into himself, feels at home in his body. For years, he felt mismatched. Hated his height. But now he’s comfortable. Now he knows how to move.

He doesn’t eat every day, doesn’t want to. Gas is more important, the insatiable need to keep moving. Whenever he fills up his car, he also buys two bottles of water. He drains them swiftly and refills them when he can. And when he does eat, he orders water to drink. It saves money and it’s healthy; there really is no downside.

Dean picks up a random book here and there. Slowly, his collection builds, filling the backseat. Some of them are old, falling apart; some new, shiny and clean. He reads himself to sleep at night, sometimes in motels, other times in a sleeping bag beside his car.

Without being pressured into it by a girlfriend who will always think herself better, he’s found, reading is fun.

He’s so far removed from who he was, no one in Stars Hollow or Chicago would recognize him.  
For some reason he can’t quite fathom, that knowledge feels good. Probably better than it should.

.

A year and a half after leaving, he hits the Pacific Ocean. He’s as far northwest as the continental US goes. He’s not Dean Forrester; he can’t even really remember that man.

He hasn’t talked to his family in months. Hasn’t seen anyone he knows in even longer.

Sometimes men try to pick fights. But Dean’s learned how to use his height. For his size, he’s quick, light on his feet. He can diffuse the situations most of the time. And when he can’t, he wins.

The day he hits Washington, he’s only killed once.

It was self defense, unavoidable. It was quick, painless. And he feels no guilt.

.

He hasn’t picked up a single hitchhiker. Had actually planned on never picking up hitchhikers. He’s heard the stories, of course. And he’s not a fool.

But he sees the man trudging along the side of the road. Carrying a duffle in each hand and a booksack on his back. Faded, torn jeans, a white T-shirt, a jean jacket. He sees it all in a glance as he drives past and then he looks in the rearview mirror.

And he stops the car.

.

Looking back later, he wonders what possesses him. Why the hell he waits for the guy to catch up with him, throw his bags in the back, and slide shotgun.

The man smiles at him, thanks him. Dean nods.

He’s never done anything so foolish.

“Jake,” the guy says.

“Dean,” he replies.

A part of him knows there is no going back. The rest of him hasn’t realized it yet.

.

A ways down the road, Dean stops at a beat-up McDonald’s. Jake leaves his stuff in the back and follows him in.

They order, each paying for their own, then sit together. They eat in silence for a while and finally Jake speaks.

“Where’re you goin’?” he asks.

Dean shrugs. “Anywhere.”

Jake nods. “Mind if I tag along? I can chip in for gas, buy my own meals.”

Dean studies him for a moment, meets his eyes. They’re hazel and huge, entreating him.

Dean half-smiles and nods.

.

It’s a long time before they really talk beyond books and movies and sports. The road is less lonely with Jake; Dean feels like maybe he’s found a friend at last.

They’re the same age, seem to like a lot of the same things. But something about Jake makes him seem a lot older. He’s weary.

When they finally talk about their pasts, it’s eight months into their shared trip and Jake’s just turned twenty-four.

.

“My real mom killed my adopted parents.” Jake says it matter-of-factly out of the blue. Dean just looks at him, waiting. “She was crazy, thought she had to. She killed my best friends, too.” Jake laughs. “Wanted me to join her, keep on killing.” He meets Dean’s eyes. “I killed her in self defense.” Jake looks away. “They arrested me for her murders but let me go for lack of evidence.”

Dean just nods.

.

“I killed a man in Wyoming,” Dean says a few nights later. They’re in a one-bed motel room. Jake has the bed and Dean takes the floor. “He started the fight. We were the two biggest guys in the bar and he was drunk.” Dean laughs. “I haven’t been drunk since the night before my wedding.” He sits up and can see Jake’s eyes reflecting light from the window. “We took it outside and he drew a knife.” Dean shrugs. “I snapped his neck.”

Jake just nods.

.

After their confessions, they talk a whole lot more. Jake tells Dean about computers and Dean shares his complete knowledge of cars. They debate philosophy and if chocolate chip cookies are better than Reese’s. They reminisce about their childhoods, their experiences.

Dean tells about Rory and Lindsay and how he totally fucked up.

Jake tells about Connie and Dakota and how he never told Connie the way he really felt.

.

“Where are we going?” Jake asks a year after they meet.

They’re in Florida and it’s June.

“Where do you wanna go?” Dean asks in reply.

Jake shrugs. Dean smiles. The sun beams down and it feels inevitable. Dean reaches out and Jake moves to him. When their lips meet, Dean wonders what he’d been waiting for.

.

“Do you ever wonder what would have been different if Rory knew what she’d had?”

Dean looks over. Jake is staring out the window, face closed.

“I did,” Dean answers. “But not anymore.” Not for a long time.

“Do you wanna go back to Stars Hollow, see your sister?”

Dean reaches out and touches Jake’s shoulder. “Wherever you wanna go, Jake. Anywhere.”

Jake turns, eyes hazel and huge. “Let’s just drive,” he says.

Again, Dean wonders who Jake would have been if his mother hadn’t fucked him up so well. Didn’t haunt him. He raises his hand to Jake’s face and Jake turns into the touch.

“Okay,” Dean answers.

.

Dean never really felt happy with Rory, with Lindsay, in Chicago or Stars Hollow. Something was missing, off, his whole life—until he met Jake.

And it’s funny, in an odd sort of way. Jake doesn’t look like a dangerous guy. He’s too clean cut, too pretty. But Dean saw him mad once, furious in a bar. Some idiot had said something—Dean didn’t hear what—and Jake shut down, closed himself off.

Later, Dean would swear the temperature dropped about fifty degrees.

And then Jake moved. The only way to describe it was panther-like. Fluid and sudden, no way to tell where he’d go next. He tore into the guy and the bastard never had a chance.

If Jake wasn’t pulled off, Dean knew the guy would die. But no one was going to try, Dean knew that, too.

So Dean lunged forward, grabbed for Jake, and at his touch, Jake stilled. Dean pulled him towards the door and everyone got out of their way.

Once at the car, Dean stopped, looked at Jake. He was normal again, still as a statue.

Dean didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

They never talked about it.

.

Dean had been so sure he’d loved Rory that it takes him by surprise.

He feels comfortable in Jake’s presence. Safe. Like he can say whatever he wants, and Jake won’t storm out, won’t close off. Jake might not agree, but he’ll listen.

And Jake can hear even what Dean doesn’t say. If Dean’s annoyed or hurt or angry, Jake knows. And he does his best to make Dean feel better.

Dean does the same for Jake.

The years of thinking he loved Rory fade more everyday. Getting Jake to laugh or smile makes a date with Rory pale in comparison.

But he never says the words. He doesn’t need to. Jake knows.

.

Seven years after leaving Stars Hollow, Dean returns. Jake is with him, steady and sure.

Instead of going to his parents’ house, Dean leads Jake to Luke’s Diner. They sit by the window and give their orders to Candice. Dean asks if Luke is in and Candice says no.

Jake smiles at her and she blushes, stutters, laughs. He asks kindly for the latest gossip and she spills everything.

Luke had married Lorelai but now they’re in the midst of a messy divorce. Rory gave birth to twins—the father is unknown, even now. Miss Patty and Taylor married in 2008; Kirk finally came out of the closet and admitted to a lifelong crush on Luke.

Dean nearly choked on his laughter. Jake smiles again and kindly thanks Candice. She blushes even more and rushes away to place their orders.

“Well,” Dean says. “Welcome to Stars Hollow.”

Jake laughs softly and Dean grins.

.

After they finish their food and leave a nice tip for Candice, Dean takes Jake on a tour. He knows the grapevine will tell everyone he’s back, so he’ll meet with Miss Patty somewhere along the way.

By the time they hit the Dragonfly, Miss Patty is there. Dean opens the door for Jake, who raises an eyebrow and goes in; Dean chuckles before following.

Miss Patty approaches Dean and pulls him into a hug. “Deano, Deano, Deano,” she chortles, “you look even better than when you left.” When she releases him, her eyes go to Jake. “Oh, _my_ , Dean,” she breathes, “Who _is_ your gorgeous companion?”

Jake blushes and Dean grins. “Miss Patty, meet Jake. Jake, this is Miss Patty.”

Jake smiles and takes her hand, bowing. “It is a pleasure to meet a beauty such as yourself, Miss Patty.”

Dean, watching, sees that Miss Patty falls in love with Jake then and there.

.

Looking back later, Dean can see the signs. They’re obvious. But he can’t hate himself for missing them.

He can’t hate Jake, either.

.

Miss Patty invites them for dinner. Dean accepts.

Dean and Jake tell about their travels; Miss Patty and Taylor tell about the town, what’s changed and stayed the same.

“I heard Lorelai and Luke married,” Dean says, taking a bite of his spaghetti.

“Oh, yes,” Miss Patty exhales. “The poor dears. They were better off before they wed.”

“What went wrong?” Dean asks and Miss Patty shares a glance with Taylor.

“Luke wouldn’t bend,” Taylor tells him. “And Lorelai wouldn’t budge.”

Dean nods and the conversation continues.

.

They stay the night at Miss Patty’s and the next day Dean takes Jake home.

His parents and sister hug him and cry. They greet Jake like another long-lost son. Dean is re-immersed into being Dean Forrester, someone he hasn’t been in almost a decade. Jake nearly preens beneath the Forrester’s attention. Dean watches with amusement; Jake has often reminded him of a cat, now moreso than ever.

They spend the day there, catching up. Dean hadn’t missed them for a long time—not since he met Jake. He doesn’t feel sad at the thought of leaving. As long as he has Jake, Dean knows he’ll be fine.

He watches Jake and wonders if that’s normal or healthy, decides it doesn’t matter. It is what it is and they are who they are, and it’s too late to change.

Not that he wants to.

.

It’s a week before Dean runs into Rory. He remembers how he felt, remembers that she was everything, all he wanted or needed. She’s beautiful, strong; a little boy walks on either side of her.

When she sees him, she freezes. “Dean,” she whispers and her eyes widen.

“Hey, Rory,” he says and leans down to kiss her cheek.

She looks down and he’s reminded of when they first met, when they danced around each other. He notices she has the bracelet he gave her on her wrist and he smiles.

“Dean,” she says again and he meets her eyes. “These are my sons, Alec and Ben.”

They’re identical with dark hair and large blue eyes, about four or five. He wants to ask who their father is, why he isn’t helping her, but it’s not his place.

They chat for a few minutes more then continue on their ways.

.

When he gets back to his parents’ house, Jake meets him at the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching out to grip Dean’s arm.

Dean pauses, stares down into Jake’s eyes. Before Jake says it, he knows.

“They were driving to Hartford for business,” Jake explains, never releasing Dean. “Your dad lost control of the car. By the time the ambulance got there, they were dead.”

Dean nods silently, unable to find the words. He can’t look away from Jake.

“Clara,” Jake continues, “She was in the back seat. She… she died on the way to the hospital and they couldn’t resuscitate her.”

Dean closes his eyes.

.

Dean’s parents left everything to his aunt and Clara, but Clara died.

The town turns out for the funeral and the rest of his family comes in from Chicago. Dean doesn’t talk to anyone, doesn’t come out of the guest room. Jake hosts everything with Lorelai’s help.

Two days after the funeral, Lindsay and her boyfriend die. A week after that, more people do.

Dean wonders if it has anything to do with him, but a part of him knows.

.

Two months after Dean returns to Stars Hollow, most everyone he knew has died.

The night after Babette and Morey meet their fate, Dean confronts Jake.

“What have you done?” Dean demands.

Jake only smiles and gently says, “You always knew.”

Dean closes his eyes.

.

At dawn they leave.

Jake drives the car and Dean sits shotgun, staring out the window.

The news covers deaths across the nation, deaths with no rhyme or reason, deaths accidental and not. And once eyes turn from the US, it’s happening all over the world.

“The hell is going on, Jake?” Dean’s voice is soft, weary.

“Excellent word choice, Dean,” he says and glances over. “My mother cannot be killed.”

Dean laughs. Jake nods and continues, “Once I realized that, I also realized how foolish it is to stand against her.” Dean turns to face him but Jake keeps talking. “It’s a new world, Dean. I won’t say better, because it’s not. But my mother is taking the earth, one city at a time. If all the adults are killed, then the children are ripe for the picking.”

Dean just stares at him and Jake’s soft laughter fills the car.

“From the moment you picked me up, from the moment our eyes met, from the moment you agreed to journey with me, from the moment you kissed me, from the moment you fucked me—from the moment you snapped Bill Walter’s neck in Wyoming, Dean, you knew.”

Jake glances over and meets his eyes. “Deny it.”

Dean looks away and stays silent.

.

“You lost yourself somewhere between Connecticut and Washington.”

Dean lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Jake sits beside him, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“You don’t mourn your parents. You don’t mourn anyone from that town except Clara and even that grief is fleeting. A part of you even feels pleasure for some of the deaths.”

Jake’s tone dares Dean to deny it. Jake’s hand is gentle, warm.

“How come you haven’t killed me?” Dean asks, rolling over and grabbing Jake’s hand.

“Because I don’t want to.”

Jake leans over and harshly kisses Dean, branding him with his lips.

.

Dean meets Marisol ten years after he left Stars Hollow for the first time.

She greets him with a bright smile and a tight hug. She greets Jake with a deep kiss on the lips.

Dean watches, jealous and angry.

After they separate, Jake pulls his head down and shows both his mother and his lover who is really his.

“You always knew,” Jake whispers into his mouth and Dean can’t find the words to deny it.  
Marisol smiles.

.

Jake is a fair ruler where Marisol is tyrannical. Jake has compassion, Marisol only madness.

Dean never asks if God ever existed. If He had, He’s long since died. Dean keeps all of his opinions to himself, all of his questions locked deep inside.

He should never have picked up that hitchhiker. But if he hadn’t… would he be dead now?

Jake smiles as he enters their bedroom and stretches out beside Dean.

In spite of his fear and worry, Dean asks, “When?”

Jake presses a kiss to his neck and murmurs against his skin, “Soon.”

.

Marisol dies on Dean’s thirty-fourth birthday.

“My gift,” Jake says, “is the world.”

Dean meets his eyes and cannot bear to look away.


	6. Through the Wire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Through the Wire  
> Warnings: child abuse; child sexual abuse; death/violence  
> Wordcount: 1100

You never understood why he hung with you—well, besides the whole fucking thing.

You know you’re beautiful, but so was he. The prettiest boy you’d ever laid eyes on.

You met Jake Grey in eighth grade and fell in love. 

.

It was your fourth school in six years and Momma said it’d be the last. Daddy was dead, finally—drunk himself into a coma and his cigarette set him on fire.

You think Momma killed him but you never asked.

You showed up to school a week late in a baggy shirt and sweatpants. The teacher sat you in the back next to a hunched-over boy with red hair. Some girls sniggered when you hobbled by—your leg still hurt from Daddy’s last lesson.

A different boy glanced up when you passed him—his hazel eyes looked deep into you. Your breath caught and your brain froze, but then he grinned. You had to grin back and the spell broke, letting you slip into the desk behind him.

“I’m Jake,” he said, offering you a hand after class.

“Dakota,” you answered and never looked back. 

.

Too soon, Jake discovered your secret, your shame, your past.

“Your father _raped_ you?” he gasped with horror, five months into your friendship, collapsing next to you in your backyard.

He never explained how he knew. You were too shaken to ask.

You couldn’t meet his gaze; he’d leave you now, cast you aside like a broken toy, not worth the energy it’d take to fix it.

“Dakota,” he murmured and you looked up. He raised a hand to your cheek and lightly traced your jaw. “It was not your fault. Understand?”

Until he said that, no matter what Momma told you, you’d believed you brought it on yourself somehow, that you deserved it. But something in his tone, in his eyes, in the way he touched you told you that you were innocent. That you hadn’t wanted it, hadn’t deserved it—

You could feel your soul lightening. So you kissed him.

At first, he pulled away. It was not rejection, you knew that—he wanted to make sure he hadn’t somehow told you to. So you smiled at him and leaned forward, kissing him again. 

.

Sometimes you wonder if you’d do anything different. You know that you wouldn’t. In the end, just being near him was worth all the pain. 

.

Connie and Jake, the misfits of school. Druggies and drunkards and fools—except for the part where Jake aced each test without trying and Connie could draw better than da Vinci. You didn’t fit in with them, and you knew it; but Jake made you feel welcome and Connie would follow him to the ends of the earth.

Even years later, after everything, you didn’t fully understand their relationship. You knew Connie’s childhood had been similar to yours, but Jake—his mother was paralyzed, true, but his father seemed nice.

Something was always off, though. Something just… felt wrong, when he spoke of his family. 

.

The year passed quickly. Soon eighth grade was gone and high school loomed, and an endless summer that you thought would end the friendship.

Then towards the end of June, Jake called you up and asked if they could crash at your place. “Just for a little while,” he whispered into the phone. “Please, Dakota. Connie—he’s—Dad’s in one of his moods.”

You could never deny Jake anything. You never really wanted to. “Of course,” you answered. “Mom’s gone for the week.”

When they showed up, Jake was practically carrying Connie, whose face was mangled. He never did look the same.

“He needs the hospital!” you quietly shrieked. “Jake!”

“No!” he responded, shooting you a dark look. “No, Dakota. They’d take him away, send him to a worse place. Okay? We’ve done this before and we’ll do it again, and that’s the way it is.” He waited a beat for your reaction, then said, “Please get some ice.”

So you did.

That week, you seduced Jake. He didn’t fight very hard, and actually tried to pleasure you, which felt... nice.

You fell even harder for him because of that. 

.

After the Pathway, after Connie died, and Jake’s family, and you finally woke up as yourself, they told you Jake caused it all. That he was sick, crazy, and you had to tell people he’d always been that way.

You ignored them all. 

.

Jake could have gone anywhere in the world. You knew he wanted to leave.

But he loved his mother and he loved Connie, and you like to believe he loved you.

You’d grown up even more beautiful, and so had Jake. You knew what men wanted and you gave it to them; Jake remained one of the few who made it good for you, as well.

Life wasn’t good, by any means, and you wouldn’t say you were happy. But you’d never expected much, and neither had Connie. But Jake… he seemed to be waiting for something, and as his twenty-first birthday drew near, he grew distant.

And that night… as he spoke of his daydream, of killing the priest and his family and everyone…

For an instant, you almost understood. There had always been an edge to Jake, something that spoke of darkness and danger and death. Of rage and despair and fear—something that scared you, as you looked in his eyes after his admission.

But that moment passed and everything happened so swiftly. 

.

You look back and you still love him. You can’t help but love him. He was so beautiful. 

.

You’re old now, with one son and two daughters. Their father is a good man. Kind and loving, and sometimes you imagine his brown eyes are hazel.

You don’t think about anything before your twenty-fifth birthday if you can help it. That’s when you escaped to Florida and put everything behind you. You changed your name and your past; you erased Dakota and became Danielle.

Sometimes the phone rings when you’re alone. You don’t answer.

They said Jake died in custody. Just stopped breathing. You know he faked them all out.

Jake couldn’t die. You’ve never understood how you know that.

Connie died, and Jake’s parents. Others. All by Jake’s hands, the police claimed. But there was more—the Pathway. And the woman who told you to kill your professor. 

.

The phone rings and you don’t answer.

You love him. But your husband is kind.

The phone keeps ringing. 

.

You miss eighth grade and the smiling boy with hazel eyes.


	7. On a Dark Horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: On A Dark Horse  
> Fandom: Devour  
> Disclaimer: not my characters. just for fun.  
> Warnings: spoilers for movie; incest; rape; implied pedophilia; child abuse; perhaps slight AU; dubious consent   
> Pairings: Jake/Dakota, Dakota’s dad/Dakota, implied Jake/Connie  
> Rating: R  
> Wordcount: 4170  
> Point of view: third

When Dakota was very young, she imagined a valiant prince on a white stallion rescuing her. He’d gallop up to their ramshackle house at the edge of Cheever Lake and challenge her father to a duel. She and Momma would watch from the window, in awe and apprehension, as the prince and her father exchanged blows.

Over the years, Dakota’s vision of the prince changed. He went from dark hair and dark eyes to blond and blue-eyed, imposing stature to barely taller than her. But, finally, at the beginning of eighth grade, her daydream settled on dark blond hair and the most beautiful hazel eyes she’d ever see.

.

Connie and Jake. She couldn’t get between them no matter how she tried. She offered Jake anything he wanted but he never took her up on it. Connie did, though. From what she figured, his home life couldn’t be much better than hers.

Jake, though… _there_ was a conundrum. Two parents, good home, steady flow of money—Jake could go places, if he wanted. He was awesome at basketball, could work wonders on a computer, and had even the teachers giving him third glances.

But he seemed content with his mom and Connie and Cheever Lake. And Dakota didn’t understand. Couldn’t. Had she the choice, she’d run and never look back.

.

Eighth grade ended. Dakota didn’t hear from Jake or Connie for three months, ‘til the beginning of freshman year. Somehow, all three of them had identical schedules.

When Jake walked into their first hour, the second to last student, Dakota saw him meet Connie’s eyes and grin.

.

They never really talked about the future, any of them. Connie said he expected his dad to kill him before he reached twenty. Dakota said she bet she’d kill herself before then.

Jake gave them both hard looks, huge hazel eyes full of something she couldn’t name, and told them they were not allowed to die.

Connie glanced at Dakota and she shrugged. Jake had just turned fifteen; Connie hadn’t been able to get him a present, but Dakota gave him a new basketball.

“Promise me,” Jake whispered, kneeling beside Connie and staring into his eyes. “Promise me you won’t die.”

The three knew that was a promise no one could keep, but they swore all the same.

.

Dakota seduced Jake on his seventeenth birthday. He told her she was his first and she kissed his forehead, said she’d make him feel like he’d never felt before.

It was a power-trip, the control she had over men, and she hated her father for ruining her to anything else.

After, on the edge of sleep in his arms, she heard Jake whisper in her ear, “He’ll get his, Dakota, I swear. He’ll pay.”

She snuggled closer, feeling safe for the first time in a long while.

.

Jake never talked about his family much, or his home life. Connie would bitch about his father at the slightest provocation, and Dakota never shied from the truth. Jake was a good listener. Dakota never felt like she was talking to a wall or being ignored. Around Jake, no matter what mood he was in or the day he’d had, she always knew she was safe with him.

The summer Dakota was nineteen, her father forced himself on her for the first time in almost four years. Dakota endured it, sobbing silently, and when he left, she lay on her bed staring at the ceiling.

She felt empty, nothing—just used. Something used and cast aside, something used because it was there, but not really wanted. Unneeded. Something that had no other purpose.

And she wanted Jake. She just wanted to look at him, to hear him, to feel his touch on her skin. So she pulled on her clothes—the T-shirt backwards and her jeans unbuttoned—and fled the house, rushing past her mother without stopping, unheeding of Dad’s yell.

She took shortcuts, stealing through backyards and private property, not even aware of the tears pouring down her face. She reached Jake’s front door breathlessly and banged on it for almost a minute before it opened to reveal Jake’s dad.

“Dakota?” he asked, eyes widening.

“Is Jake home?” she gasped out and he nodded, stepping back.

She breezed past him and up the stairs, tears still building behind her eyes and spilling over. She paused at Jake’s door, wondering what she was doing. She leaned forward just resting on the wood, and when it opened, she floundered, trying to keep her balance. He caught her as she fell and then sank beneath her weight, cradling her in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, shifting her around, settling her tight in his grip. “I’ve got you, ‘ kota. You’re safe now.”

It took close to half an hour, but finally she calmed, slipped easily into sleep.

When she woke, she was still cradled in his arms, but they were on his bed, nestled in his blankets.

“You’re getting out of there, Dakota,” Jake said firmly. “And you won’t go back alone.”

She shifted and curled up against him, warm and safe. She didn’t say anything and he softly pressed a kiss to her hair. He moved slightly and she turned to face him.

Jake’s eyes were kind, but she saw the rage building. She shivered and laid her head on his shoulder, unable to think beyond the moment, the safety in his scent.

“Trust me,” he murmured, raising a hand to tangle his fingers in her hair. “I’ve got you now, Dakota. You’re safe now.” He kissed the side of her head. “He won’t lay a hand on you ever again.”

She sank back into sleep and dreamed of Jake on a large black stallion, cutting off her father’s head with one slice of his sword.

.

She spent a week with Jake, rarely left his room. She showered at least twice a day. Jake sometimes joined her but never made a move. He helped wash her clean and assured her she wasn’t tainted, wasn’t broken. “You’re out of his reach, ‘ kota,” Jake murmured. “And he’ll pay. I promise.”

A few times, while she huddled in his bed, swaddled in his blankets, she heard Jake and his dad arguing. Sometimes Mr. Grey yelled, but Jake never raised his voice. She couldn’t make out the words of either, just the tone.

Dakota knew it was about her. On her sixth day at Jake’s house, she woke cradled in his arms to see his smile. “I found a place for you,” he said. “I’ve spoken to the college; they’ll let you and Connie move into dorms on Monday.”

Her eyes widened and she couldn’t look away from his face. “For real?” she asked, terrified it would fall through.

“For real,” he affirmed, lowering his head to softly kiss her lips. “And I’ve got a job lined up for you, if you want it.”

She started crying and pressed her forehead into his chest. “I think I love you,” she whispered through the tears but didn’t believe he heard her.

.

Freshman year was fine. Dakota lived at the dorm or she lived at Jake’s, but she never went home. She never saw her father or mother, didn’t want to.

Connie raised his eyebrows for a few days, but then moved past it. He had his own ghosts to escape.

A few bastard teachers tried to take advantage of her, and she let them. Dakota knew she wasn’t a genius like Jake, but she wasn’t a fool, either. It was easy to let them play with her body because she took herself far away, to Jake’s bedroom and Jake’s bed, to Jake’s soft eyes and strong arms, to Jake’s voice telling her everything would be okay. The clichéd words sounded like truth when he murmured them, and she was safe.

Jake watched her like a hawk, prepared to swoop in and rescue her the second she needed it. And that was a sensation she’d never felt before, something she’d never imagined feeling. Someone cared for her, wanted to protect her—she preened beneath his attention.

But the months passed and Dakota began taking advantage of his protectiveness. So Jake shifted back to Connie, spent his time with Connie. Dakota was annoyed at first, then a little hurt—but she’d never been able to count on anyone, so it wasn’t new, Jake’s abandonment.

Towards the end the first semester, Jake stopped by Dakota’s dorm room. When she got back from her shower, he was reclining on her bed, reading their history text. She paused in the doorway a moment, hesitant, but he raised his eyes from the book to her face. “Hey, ‘ kota,” he said and smiled, closing the book and placing it beside him. She stepped in and shut the door, reached up to pull the towel from her hair. It was getting long and unwieldy, hanging to the middle of her back. She’d been thinking of what to do with it—probably get it cut sometime soon.

“Jake,” she replied, dropping the towel on the foot of the bed. “Whatcha ya doin’ here?”

Jake smiled, sadly and slowly. Were it anyone else but him—even Connie—Dakota might have felt apprehensive, nervous—but he was Jake. Even when he was angry, he never lashed out at her; she never felt worried around him. “It’s been a while since we talked, ‘ kota. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’m fine, Jake. I promise.”

He sat up, pulling his feet under him. Dakota pushed the towel aside and sank onto her bed, facing him. “You’re happy?” Jake asked quietly.

Dakota smiled. “Yes,” she lied.

.

The first semester of freshman year ended. Dakota had Bs and Cs, Connie had Cs and Ds, and Jake had As.

They celebrated the end of school with a party on the bank of Cheever Lake, where the town derived its name. Dakota brought the beer, Connie brought the weed, and Jake drove them out there.

Jake drank but never got drunk and rarely smoked anything. Dakota had never seen him high and she’d asked Connie—he’d never seen Jake high, either. So he was always their designated driver.

Connie sat shotgun and Dakota stretched out across the backseat. Connie fiddled with the radio and Dakota kept up a steady stream of nonsense, flitting from subject to subject. Dakota passed out the beers; Connie opened his right away and chugged half down. Jake set his in the cup-holder and Dakota just held hers.

“Jake,” Connie asked, “how d’ya get such good grades all the time?”

With a shrug, Jake turned down the radio. “I go to class, mostly,” he laughed. “On time, every time. You should think about that next semester.”

“Are we there yet?” Dakota whined. “I’m gettin’ claustrophobic back here.”

Connie cackled and Jake answered, “Almost.”

.

They spent the night at Cheever Lake. Connie fell asleep first, mid-sentence; Dakota draped herself across Jake’s lap and whispered, “Why’re you such a good guy, Jakob Grey?”

He stared out over the still water and she gazed at his face; highlighted by the moon, his eyes almost seem to glow. Finally, as she drifted off, he said, “I’m not so good as all that, ‘ kota. Not at all.”

.

The second semester was practically identical to the first, the only difference being that the three of them were close again. Midway through, Dakota saw her father on campus and froze, panicked. She turned around and shot away, blindly ran through the grounds, finally stopping behind one of the buildings and leaning against it.

She pulled out her cell-phone and speed-dialed Jake, sank down to the dirt.

“Yeah?” Jake answered after a couple rings.

“I saw him, Jake,” she gasped, sobbing. “I saw Daddy.”

“Did he see you?” Jake demanded.

Dakota shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she whispered, sagging against the wall. “God, Jake, please—”

“Where are you?”

She told him and then he said, “Okay, ‘ kota, stay on the phone. Tell me about the movie you watched last night.”

Dakota began, Jake encouraging her whenever she faltered. It was almost five minutes before Jake sank beside her and touched her shoulder. She let her cell fall to the ground and he pulled her into his arms. “I got you, ‘ kota,” he whispered. “That bastard won’t touch you, not _ever_ again.”

“You promise?” she begged.

He kissed her temple. “I swear on the sun, ‘ kota.”

She buried her face in his shirt and sobbed, her hands clenched around the cloth. “I hate him,” she said through the tears. “I hate him so much.”

Jake rubbed slow, gentle circles on her back, soothed her. It was half an hour before she calmed enough for him to pull away. He cupped her face in his hands and wiped her tears away. “Let me take you home, Dakota.”

She nodded, still gasping slightly. He stood and bent over, putting one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. She turned, curling toward him again. She kept her eyes closed, focusing on his heartbeat, on his chest rising and falling.

Almost before she knew it, he was swinging her down, opening his jeep’s door, and ushering her in. He buckled her seatbelt and gently kissed her forehead; she drew her knees up and locked her wrists in front of them. Jake kept talking but Dakota didn’t register his words, just his voice and tone. He drove slowly and surely, and when they reached his house, he carried her in, up the stairs to his room, tucked her into his bed then lay beside her, gathered her into his arms, and held her ‘til she slipped into dreams.

Dakota didn’t wake when Jake slipped from the bed or when, hours later, he crawled back in, fresh from the shower.

.

The next day, Dakota ate breakfast at Jake’s table. His father didn’t say anything to her beyond a half-hearted greeting. Jake served her scrambled eggs and peanut butter toast, poured her a glass of chocolate milk. He quizzed her about their art history class and lightly teased her about her crush on Matt Damon.

She wrapped herself up in his caring, in his attention, and felt safe.

He drove her back to the college, escorted her to her room, and softly kissed her lips, caressed her face.

“I love you,” she whispered, looking up into his huge hazel eyes.

Jake smiled sadly. “I love you, Dakota,” he murmured, kissing her lips again.

.

It wasn’t until later that day, mid-afternoon, that Dakota heard her father had been murdered. His throat was slit and his chest cut open, heart missing. His eyes had been gouged out, nose and ears cut off, half a dozen fingers gone.

And his dick had been slit down the middle, then carved off and shoved in his mouth.

She couldn’t find it in herself to care.

.

Without the threat of her father hanging over her anymore, Dakota flourished. She felt as if her soul had lightened, as if the sun shone brighter, as if the world opened up before her. Jake showered her with attention and she preened, glowed with happiness.

But, like all good things, it came to an end. The day after their last final, Connie was in a terrible car wreck. He almost died—he actually was dead, for nearly a minute, Dakota heard, but luckily Jake didn’t. That promise she and Connie had made on Jake’s fifteenth birthday echoed in Dakota’s head, as she paced up and down the hall. Jake sat on the floor, staring at empty space, hands clenched in his lap. He was completely still; only his chest, rising and falling, and his eyes, blinking, showed he wasn’t a statue.

They were the only people there for Connie. His dad hung up on the nurse who called and his mom had split years ago. Jake’s mother would have come if she could, but Jake’s dad had work.

Hours passed and there was no word. Dakota sank down beside Jake and he raised his arm, pulled her close. She curled into him, resting her head on his chest; closing her eyes, she listened to his heartbeat. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm but did not speak.

And finally a nurse appeared before them. “Conrad Dean’s family?” she asked and Jake shot to his feet.

“Yes,” he answered. “How is he?”

“He’s going to be fine,” the nurse smiled. “You can see him for a few minutes.”

Before she’d even finished the first sentence, Jake sagged back against the wall, eyes closed in relief. “Thank you,” he murmured, looking at the nurse. “Thank you.”

He grabbed Dakota’s hand and pulled her to him, gently kissed her lips. “I’ll be right back,” he said and followed the nurse down the hall.

So Dakota went back to pacing. She decided not to worry about how Jake was going to pay, how he’d convinced the staff they were family. Connie would be fine. He’d live. And that hollow, broken look would leave Jake’s eyes.

.

For three months, until Connie could move without wincing, Jake coddled him. Connie hated being helpless, hated being unable to take care of himself, but he loved Jake showering him with affection. _Anyone_ would love Jake showering them with affection. He focused his whole being on the person, every part of him, and they knew they were loved.

Dakota spent her time with Connie and Jake, telling stories or reading books. For those three months, Connie lived with Jake. Mr. Grey complained, of course, but Jake ignored him.

Finally, though, Connie was fully healed. Jake moved him back to the college and made sure he could actually do for himself.

Sophomore year started soon after. Jake helped Connie far more than he ever had before because things had been shaken around in Connie’s head. He wasn’t the same.

Once after visiting Connie, Jake stopped by Dakota’s dorm room and crawled into bed with her, pressed his face against her stomach. “I miss him,” Jake whispered, wrapping his arms around her. “I miss him, ‘ kota.”

Dakota didn’t know what to do; this reversal of their roles frightened her. But she followed her instincts and carded her fingers through his soft hair, murmured nonsense in a soothing tone, and waited for him to sleep.

After he did, she shifted down to curl against him and watched over him as he was haunted by tormenting dreams.

.

They never spoke of that night. But Jake touched her more, welcomed her with brighter smiles than before. He often spent evenings in her room and invited her to go out when Connie wasn’t with him.

“What am I to you?” she asked on the fourth such outing, tired of not knowing where she stood.

“A friend,” he answered, confused, and she drooped.

“That’s all?”

“What’d you think?” he inquired, shifting away from her in the booth.

She shrugged, almost hurt. “I just…” She shrugged again, unable to think of a way to say how she felt without ruining everything.

She loved him and she knew it. She’d loved him since eighth grade. She loved him with everything in her. She adored his mother and enjoyed spending time with Connie, but the only person she’d ever loved sat across from her in the booth and looked at her with wide, trapped eyes.

“Oh,” Jake muttered, meeting her gaze. “’ kota…” He smiled sadly. “I love you, ‘ kota. I do. But not like that. I’m sorry, so sorry.”

For the third time in five minutes, Dakota shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, eating a fry. “Forget I brought it up.”

.

Sophomore year—both semesters—passed in a blur. They did more things as a trio, and Dakota gave up on ever having Jake like she wanted. She loved him and sometimes they fucked, but he didn’t feel for her what she felt for him.

And it hurt, but what she had was better than nothing, so she kept it. She grabbed a hold of what he gave her and resolved to never let go.

In December, between semesters, Connie showed her The Pathway. He said he hadn’t brought Jake in yet, that it’d be his birthday present. Connie explained the rules and she scoffed.

“The game calls you? Isn’t that a bit creepy?”

“But totally cool,” he retorted.

.

It _was_ slightly cool at first. The Pathway would call with little things: tell Mr. Woodrow, the creepy guy who lived down the street from her old house, exactly how she’d felt about him all these years. Call her mom and cuss the bitch out for failing to protect her. Visit Dad’s grave and spit on his tombstone.

Then it evolved to shoplifting, to vandalizing, to shouting at strangers on the street. But Dakota felt a thrill, felt alive—

And Connie signed Jake up as a twenty-first birthday present. Jake scared her that night, talking about how he wanted to kill people, talking about what he _really_ wanted to do. And she just lay across his lap, just listened, then slowly raised herself up to look into his eyes.

His gaze was empty. For the longest heartbeat, his hazel eyes were empty. But then Jake—the boy she knew, the man she loved—peered at her again and she relaxed.

.

When she learned that Connie was dead, she hurried to Jake. The promise she and Connie made echoed in her ears, their oath to not die.

The memory of Jake’s face as he asked Connie to swear—Jake was sitting outside Connie’s dorm, eyes empty, devoid of light and warmth. She sank down next to him, holding back her tears as he let his head fall onto her shoulder.

The teams—police and emergency personnel—finished up and Jake’s uncle Ross paused by them; Jake didn’t look up but Dakota met his gaze and nodded. Ross smiled at her and continued on his way.

They sat there for a long time, Dakota holding Jake, just waiting for her own turn to break down. And finally he pulled away, stood, and walked into Connie’s room.

“Jake,” she called softly, and followed. “Jake, what are—”

She froze as she entered, Jake stretched out on Connie’s bed, covers over him, face buried in Connie’s pillow. “Jake,” she whispered and lay down beside him, curled up in his embrace. “Jake,” she said again.

“Why’d he do it?” Jake asked, voice as hollow as his eyes. “’ kota… we were gonna eat breakfast together. Why would he agree to that if he was just gonna… gonna...” Jake couldn’t seem to force out the words and he fell apart, sobbing. Dakota began crying, too, and they held each other all day and night, on Connie’s bed.

.

When she saw him again, he asked her to stay away from The Pathway. And she promised, she meant it—but The Pathway called her and told her to seduce him.

She knew it was a bad idea. They were both too fragile at the moment, too angry and hurt—but she went to Jake’s house and felt distant from her emotions, locked away behind a glass wall. She could see how she should be acting, but she couldn’t approach it.

Jake seemed locked away from his emotions, too. He was hollow again, a shell. Not angry or hurt—just empty.

So she fucked him because The Pathway told her to and wondered, as she walked down the stairs, if she’d ruined their friendship forever.

.

She only saw him one more time, after. He brought his girlfriend to the diner where she worked—the job he’d gotten her a couple of years before—and ordered food to go.

Professor Hartney also appeared that night. He told her again, sneaking to the back, to either give him what he wanted or he’d fail her.

And The Pathway called her again, stirred up the old memories of her father, the old feelings of hate and rage and pain and fear.

So Dakota gestured for Professor Hartney to step into the back with her, a knife hidden in her grip, and—lost in a haze, thinking he was her father—Dakota punished him for his sins.

.

Dakota gave Jake his food and did not say goodbye. She watched Jake and his girlfriend—Marisol—walk out the diner.

She wanted to run after him, to throw herself into his arms, to sink into his comforting voice and touch and scent—but that Jake died with Connie. The Jake she loved died with Connie, was buried with Connie, was beyond her reach.

Jake left the diner and Dakota went into the back, gripped the knife she’d used on Professor Hartney, and jammed the blade into her neck.

Her final thought was of a brave knight on a large black stallion, a knight with dark blond hair and huge hazel eyes, a knight who failed to save her.


	8. son of Cain (crossover with Joshua)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: son of Cain  
> Fandom: Devour/Joshua crossover  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: spoilers for Joshua; future!fic for Devour  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PGish  
> Point of view: third  
> Wordcount: 666

“I don’t know what happened,” Brad admits at his first meeting with his court-appointed shrink. “It all just… spiraled out of control, out of nowhere. Lily, Abby—” His voice breaks when he finishes with, “Mom.”

Back at the beginning, when he’d been charged with child abuse and blamed for Abby’s breakdown, he’d considered rolling over and pleading guilty. Just taking everything and waiting it out, to start over when his sentence finished. But then he thought of Ned, completely unaware and unprepared, and poor Lily, helpless in the presence of a monster.

There was only Joshua’s testimony and that incident in the park to back up his claim. His genius explained the drawings and expert manipulations, and so Brad was released; however, he couldn’t be alone with his children and he had to see a shrink. 

“Josh was always such a quiet kid,” Brad says now, glancing down at his hands. “Sharp and quick, you know? Smarter than me, I think.” He clasps his fingers and twists, relishing the pain. “I don’t know where I went wrong with him. What I messed up so horribly.” He looks at the shrink—Dr. Grey, if he recalls correctly, young and earnest, dark blond hair and huge hazel eyes. “I never abused him, Doc,” he says, infusing every ounce of betrayal and hurt he feels towards Joshua into the words. “Not until that day in the park. He just kept pushing, kept—”

He’d been framed by an expert, he knows now. Maybe if Josh had a little more real-world experience, he’d have gotten away with it.

Dr. Grey jots down a note and then nods. “I think that’s enough for today, Mr. Cairn,” he says. “Your son—some people are just born wrong. Can’t be helped, can’t be predicted.” He raises his head to meet Brad’s eyes. “Go on home, take a long bath. Rest under the water until you forget everything: your wife, your parents, your brother-in-law and your daughter. Until you forget Joshua.” 

Brad wants to demand an explanation, but his body is rising without his consent, walking to the door. 

“Mr. Cairn,” Dr. Grey calls before he steps out. “You are a good man. After, I’ll let your family know.” 

Brad is screaming inside as his body catches a cab home, as he undresses, as he turns on the water and sinks down to rest on the bottom of the tub. Brad screams inside his mind as the water covers him, as he lowers his head beneath the surface, as he runs out of air.

He keeps screaming until he can’t anymore. 

.

When Joshua gets out of school on the Monday after his father commits suicide, Uncle Ned isn’t there. He glances around and then starts walking in the direction of Uncle Ned’s house. 

He’s happy, he thinks. That must be what he’s feeling, here with just Uncle Ned and Lily. Uncle Ned worships him and Lily doesn’t cry anymore. Mommy and Daddy are gone, and Grandma. No one pesters him or tries to manipulate him. 

Part of Joshua (a small part, and growing smaller all the time) wonders if he should feel guilt or remorse or regret for what he did. Framing Daddy, pushing Mommy into a breakdown, helping Grandma on her way to Heaven—all the books he’s read say he should. Should confess, get help. Daddy even told him he was sick, but not sick in his body. Sick in his head, in his soul. 

“Hey, kiddo,” a voice calls. “Joshua.”

He turns. A man stands there, in jeans and a green shirt, dark blond hair and hazel eyes. “Who are you?” he asks. Uncle Ned and Daddy both gave him the talk about strangers. 

“I’m Jake Grey,” the man says, smiling. “We need to talk.” 

Joshua looks up at him, head cocked to the side, calculating all of the possibilities. “Okay,” he replies, and walks side by side with Jake into the park. Jake ruffles his hair.

Joshua takes his hand.


End file.
